


flowers for you

by bakane



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Hanahaki Disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakane/pseuds/bakane
Summary: It's a sickness, caused by unrequited love. And Jillian has to be honest with herself. Her chances of survival were beginning to look a little grim.But all she realizes at that moment is that this is proof. Living proof that Dr. Jillian Holtzmann is seriously in love with Dr. Erin Gilbert.It’s unintelligent, and it’s completely irrational, sure. But it's the truth.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happens Jillian doesn’t know what it means. It was just an ordinary day, apart from busting ghosts and getting slimed, but that’s something that happens more often than not, so who was she to question otherwise?

Jillian had been in her lab, working on a new proton weapon for the future. She’d been thinking about machine guns, for an entirely harmless reason, when she heard somebody walk into the room.

“I’ve been having the worst possible morning,” her voice started, sounding tired and upset.

Jillian grinned, despite what she heard. She set down the screwdriver she’d been holding, looking up to see Erin, frowning by her side. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Well, I woke up late this morning because my alarm didn’t go off. And then I couldn’t catch a cab so I had to walk all the way to work. And  _Kevin_  has managed to singlehandedly break our only coffee machine and I  _need_  caffeine. Otherwise, I might-” Erin shot her an indignant look. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that…” Jillian tried hard not to laugh. “What exactly are you wearing?” she had to ask.

“It’s a…fashion jumpsuit,” Erin said, glancing down at her loose outfit. “Made for adults,” she added, trying to make it sound more sophisticated and dignified.

“No, that’s a onesie,” Jillian corrected her. “You’re wearing an adult  _onesie_.”

“I left all my clothes at the Laundromat, okay?” Erin crossed her arms as she explained. “This was the only clean thing that I could find.”

“You’re kidding me,” said Jillian with glee. “God bless you, Erin Gilbert. Now, where's that camera at?”

Erin threw her a very dirty look indeed. “I don’t even know why I bothered. I’m going back downstairs.”

“Aw, no! No, wait.” Jillian laughed in good nature, tugging Erin by the arm before she had the chance to get away. “Come on, hot stuff. I managed to snag a little something before Kev blew up the machine.”

She offered Erin her own steaming cup of joe. “No woman should have to go a day without drinking coffee.”

Erin looked at it, for a moment of suspicion, before taking a slow cautionary sip. Immediately, her eyes went wide.

“Oh my god. Did you put cinnamon in this?” Erin quickly asked; Jillian nodded in return. “It tastes amazing, Holtzmann. Thank you.”

The tension in her shoulders finally seemed to melt away, and Jillian couldn’t help but smile at the time, even if Erin had, unintentionally, stolen her breakfast.

She’d been meaning to say something back, another witty remark perhaps, when she felt something itching at the back of her throat.

Jillian turned around and coughed into her sleeve. She felt something thin and warm crawl up from inside her mouth. She spat it out, catching a single flower petal in her hand. Burnt orange, she realized, like the color of Erin’s new hair.

“Are you okay?” Erin asked from behind.

“Uh… Yeah? I think so.”

Jillian had lied to her then, hiding the petal in her fist, not even knowing what she’d been meaning to hide in the first place.

* * *

It happens again a week after, just when she’s about to forget about the whole thing.

Luckily, she was alone. She’d been at the firehouse after hours. It wasn’t anything out of blue. Holtzmann was usually the last one to pack up and leave. And Erin was, almost always, willing to accompany her until she left.

But not today. Today, her friend had left a couple hours early...for a date.

That’s right. _Erin Gilbert_ was going on a date.

Just the whole idea of it had put Jillian in a weird, funky mood.

It didn’t make much sense, because it was really none of her business who or what Erin did in her spare time. But she went downstairs anyway, moping and sulky, away from all her distractions, away from all her comforting tools, thinking about what it all boiled down to. Thinking about Erin.  

She began to cough again, and her pain echoed off the hollow walls.

They appeared again, the yellowish flower petals. Four of them, all scrunched up in her hands, confirming her fears from last week. This was not a fluke. This was real.

For the first time in a long while, Jillian didn’t know what to do. Of course, she  _knew_ what this was. She’d read about it, rumors mostly. It sounded a bit farfetched, but she caught  _ghosts_  for a living. So who was she to decide what was normal or abnormal?

Instead, she just tries to  _understand_  what this is, what these flower petals are supposed to mean.

And it flies over her head that this could be something dangerous, something potentially life-threatening. All she realizes at that moment is that this is proof. Living proof that Dr. Jillian Holtzmann is seriously in love with Dr. Erin Gilbert.

And Dr. Erin Gilbert is currently out on a date with somebody else.

* * *

She searches the internet. She goes through medical archives in the library. Her symptoms are rare, pointing to only one possible illness in the entire world: the Hanahaki Disease. A sickness, caused by unrequited love.

And if her love is  _not_  returned, flowers  _will_  grow in both her lungs, and she  _will_  suffocate, and she  _will_  die.

It’s strange when she comes to really think about it. It’s unintelligent, and it’s completely irrational.

In layman’s term, it’s plain stupid.

It’s just really, really stupid and dumb.

It’s a stupid disease that only stupid people catch, because they were too stupid to fall in love like actual normal human beings, and they had to go ahead and be stupid and love somebody that will never love them back.

And she tries to tell herself that it’s not worth it. It’s not real. Because Jillian has always been and forever will be, a brilliant scientist. And love, according to science, is nothing more than a chemical reaction within the body and the brain; it’s just a whole bunch of neurotransmitters and hormones running wild. "Love" serves a purely evolutionary purpose, nothing more.

But she can’t.

Not when Erin’s smiling at her, laughing with her, touching her lightly on the arm. Not when Erin’s all flustered and embarrassed like she can’t believe she’s the most amazing person in the world, even though all the signs in the universe point to that she is.

* * *

It’s only a matter of time before the others begin to notice. Of course, it’s Erin who first notices the change.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You sound horrible.”

“I’m fine,” said Jillian, her voice still a little rough from all the coughing she’s done. “Just caught a bad cold, that’s all,” she lied again.

Erin frowned, looking possibly more concerned.

“You want me to make you some tea?” she offered. “It’ll help a lot with your throat.”

Jillian didn’t stop her, though she doubted  _tea_  would make a difference. She watched Erin boil a kettle of water, in half-joy, half-misery. A couple of minutes later, she drank her herbal tea in silence, hiding later in the bathroom, wheezing and coughing out a string of daisy petals into the toilet.

“Holtzmann?” She heard Erin knocking on the door. “Holtz, are you okay in there? Please, open up!”

She couldn’t though. She couldn’t possibly let Erin know.

Not yet.

Not ever.

* * *

Abby finds her next.

She had been hiding upstairs, once again in a coughing fit. A string of yellow petals. Sunflowers. Like Erin’s favorite kind.

Her stereo had been turned up so loud, she didn't hear any footsteps approaching. She didn’t even see Abby, not until Abby looked over her desk, noticed Holtzmann lying in a pool of petals, and shouted “Oh my god!” at the top of her lungs.

Thankfully, Jillian shushed her in time, slapping a hand over Abby’s mouth. She wiggled a finger, trying to grin, but coming off as more of a grimace.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Jillian told her in a low voice.

Abby took a moment to calm down, taking in a slow breath of air before meeting Holtzmann straight in the eyes.

“And what does this look like?” Abby asked quietly.

“Well, it may  _appear_  as though I’ve been coughing up all these flower petals by myself,” Jillian reasoned, “when actually, I’ve just been taking up a secret passion for gardening and-”

“Holtz,” Abby kept her from spiraling, her voice strangely calm, oddly soothing. “Tell me the truth, please.”

Jillian closed her mouth at once, not knowing how to respond. She had managed to lie her way out with Erin, flirting, joking, denying, whatever it took to get her to stop prying. But she knew none of that would work with Abby. Abby, who probably knew her better than anyone else in the world.

She took a moment, trying to get her story straight, sucking in a deep breath before continuing.

“It seems as though I’ve contracted an illness,” she began stiffly. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it. It's called-”

But apparently, Abby had heard of it. And just from the flower petals, she had guessed it and she knew. She hugged Holtzmann, tighter than she had ever done before.

“It’s okay,” Abby whispered to her. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

And Jillian felt her throat clench up, her lips quivering, not realizing the enormity of the situation, not until Abby’s trembling arms told her how serious this was.

“It’s Erin,” she manages to say, between Abby’s soft words of reassurance, between the mechanical whirs of her lab equipment, between Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time appropriately playing in the background.

There’s a long pause, and she’s bracing herself for that inevitable tone of pity. But Abby simply pats her on the back, giving her three gentle strokes.

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

She pleads Abby not to tell her. And Abby listens, afraid of what might happen to her if she does.

* * *

Sooner or later, Jillian realizes that she needs to formulate a plan. She has to have at least some things figured out. A pros and cons list, maybe. Or a bucket list, perhaps.

It’s something she’d never done. She hadn’t been a great stickler for rules.

Well, she’s crazy, but she’s not an anarchist. And for once in her life, Jillian longs for order, for _something_ she could control about this situation.

There are so many things to consider. Too many outcomes.

The most favorable outcome is: she tells Erin the truth, Erin reciprocates her feelings, and she’s cured. They live happily ever after, the end.

The odds were quite slim though, of this ever happening.

Most likely the outcome would be: she professes her undying love for Erin, Erin is unable to reciprocate, their friendship is ruined, and Jillian would be losing the one person she cares too much for, and on top of all of that, she would choke on her own flowers and die.

Terrific.

There are other options, thankfully. Like, there's always the choice of remaining silent. It’s a bit cowardly, fine, and passive, but it’s the fail-safe option. She’d die, sure, but at least she wouldn’t die feeling like a human pile of garbage.

Then there’s the possibility of surgery.

Jillian had jumped at the idea of a cure. But she quickly decides against it, after a bit of research. The stakes were too high, she argued.

She’d live, but she’d lose her feelings for Erin, something she wasn’t willing to sacrifice, or she’d lose her ability to love in general, also something she would prefer not to lose, or she’d suffer from a very convenient form of amnesia, like Jim Carrey in that one serious movie he did with the girl from Titanic.

So, no. Surgery was definitely not an option for her.

A song begins to play over the radio. It’s that Nazareth song; love hurts, love scars. Jillian thinks it’s so unbelievably ironic, she flings a claw hammer across the room.

She’s angry. Upset.

She has to be honest with herself. Her chances of survival were beginning to look a little grim.

* * *

Her luck runs dry on a Thursday night.

Erin finds out, and if Jillian thought her experience with Abby was bad, this was a million times worse.

She’s downstairs, listening to Erin talk about her third date with the mystery man. She’s thinking about going steady. His name’s Brian, she tells Holtzmann. And Holtzmann wonders if it’s possible to hate someone without ever having to meet them.

Her feelings resurface, and she can’t hide them any longer.

She tries to cover up the flower petals, floating around in her coffee mug. But there’s an abundance of them, and they’re overflowing, and before she could gather up a proper excuse, she starts coughing again, and the evidence is right there, destroying her only chance of keeping this a secret.

Erin is very quiet and still, but Jillian can tell that she’s just seconds away from breaking down, the sheer quality of the news just beginning to sink in. Her fingers are shaking, positively quivering as she leans over to pick up one of the pink petals on the floor.

“Is this…?” Erin doesn’t finish her question; she doesn’t need to. Because she’s brilliant, and she’s already figured it out in her head.

Jillian nods twice, both incredibly rigid and forced. “I’m in love with you,” she should say. But before she can do it, Erin’s arms are wrapped around her neck, her reddish brown hair obscuring most of her vision.

“But how?” Erin asks in a shaky voice. “Who...?”

And Jillian laughs.

She laughs and coughs, and then just starts laughing again. Because no matter how good Erin might be at particle physics, she’s too clueless, too _oblivious_  to solve this riddle. It’s hilarious, that’s what this is. And Holtzmann can’t help but throw a wrench into the conversation.

“It’s Kevin,” she jokes, and the look on Erin’s face is worth the ‘can-you-be-serious-for-once-you’re-supposed-to-be-dying!’ speech that comes immediately after.

* * *

Erin Gilbert is not at all subtle with her approach.

“We can cut it all out,” she says over the phone, just four hours after she’s found out.

Mind you, it is two a.m. in the morning, and Holtzmann hadn’t been sleeping properly for the past few days (coughing up flower petals and all). She’s irritated, to say the least.

“No,” Jillian answers, shortly and gruffly. She stifles another cough.

“But can’t you just consider it?” Erin presses her. “It’s a simple surgery. And there are hardly any risks involved.”

“ _Hardly any risks involved?_ Are you serious?” Jillian echoes her words in disbelief. “Erin. I might not even remember the person I fell in love with.”

 _You_. She thinks in the back of her mind. I might not remember  _you_.

“Yeah, well, how important is that, really?” Erin says in a huffy manner. “As opposed to staying alive, I mean.”

“It means a lot actually,” Jillian snaps. She’s close to saying “so mind your own business,” when she realizes that this really  _is_  a part of Erin’s business, she just doesn’t know it yet.

Erin’s been silent for a while now. Jillian wonders if she was being a little too harsh.

Then she hears a small sniffle, and her heart aches again.

“But... You  _do_  know that if this person doesn’t love you back, then you’ll…?” Erin’s voice breaks, and she sounds like she can’t continue.

Jillian doesn’t either. She presses her lips together, just in time before she can say something moronic. She stays on the line though, listening to Erin breathing, wondering how it could be between them if the universe had been a little fairer.

* * *

Patty, arguably, finds out at the worst possible moment.

The four of them were on a ghost bust at the time. Patty was separated from the group, and Jillian had gone after her, ignoring any safety protocols Abby or Erin might adhere to. She found Patty in the attic, and before she could save the day by throwing a proton hand grenade at the ghost, the flowers in her lung started to expand again, and she was down on her knees, coughing, spewing out a bouquet of petals.

Patty _screamed._ Not for the ghost that was haunting some poor woman’s attic, but for Holtzmann, who looked like she was ready to reenact a scene from The Exorcist, just with flowers instead of ectoplasm.

She freaked out for about an hour; Abby managed to calm her down after a couple of prescription drugs and some chamomile tea.

By the end of the month, everyone at the firehouse was aware of Holtzmann’s new condition.

Although Kevin didn’t have a full grasp on what was going on, he did understand that this was a serious matter, and it drove Jillian crazy whenever he tried to baby her. 

Everyone did, as a matter of fact. It grew to a point of discomfort and concern.

“You need to tell her,” Abby told her one afternoon. Patty was standing by her side, nodding in silent agreement.

“Technically, I don’t need to do anything anymore,” Jillian grinned half-heartedly, “Since I’m dying and everything.”

Abby winced at the choice of her words. “Yes, but you can fix that by just  _telling_  her.”

“Nope,” she grunted in frustration. “It’s not that simple.”

There was no way for her to get the others to understand.

“We know it’s hard.” Abby offered a smile that managed to be both sympathetic and encouraging. “But you have to learn to take chances with people. You said so yourself. ‘The purpose of life is to love, and to love is what you have shown me.’ Remember?”

Jillian  _did_  remember. She had meant it. Every word.

“I don’t want to lose her,” she said, almost inaudibly.

Patty came around, embracing her closely from behind.

“We don’t wanna lose you either, Holtzy.”

* * *

Jillian had never been much of a people’s person.

She liked her privacy. She enjoyed working alone, fiddling with parts, building new devices and gadgets.

She’d never been much of a ‘touchy-feely’ person either; that’s the kind of stuff kindergarteners did after recess. And even in kindergarten, if Jillian had ever been to one, she would probably be the weird kid in the back that never spoke a word to anyone else, including the teacher.

That being said, why she bothers to go to therapy is a big mystery.

But she goes there because Erin has begged her to attend. Erin, foolishly enough, thinks that there’s a way to change Holtz’s mind about surgery. And if she couldn’t convince Holtzmann to go through with, then perhaps a professional might be able to.

So, yeah. She goes. Because Jillian loves Erin, and can never say no to what she asks.

She loves Erin, even though she’ll never be willing to admit it, and once she does admit it, the shock of Erin’s answer would surely be the death of her, even if she was due to drop dead anytime soon by flowers screwing up her lungs.

Unsurprisingly, the therapy session does little to sway her mind. Jillian still can’t imagine a world in which she doesn’t care about Erin Gilbert, doesn’t fall in love with Erin Gilbert, or, god forbid, forgets about Erin Gilbert.

What she does end up doing is picking up an interesting pamphlet on her way out of the doctor’s office.

“Love kills over 2,000 Americans every year!” is the article’s title. Jillian doubts that the data is accurate, but she feels somewhat proud to be a part of that group. There are worse ways to die; she tells herself that, all the way back home.

* * *

She visits Dr. Rebecca Gorin one evening, knowing she can’t put it off for much longer.

Her mentor had the right to know, Jillian tells herself every time her heart sinks, and her courage fails, and she can already imagine Dr. Gorin’s face when her only protégée tells her she was stupid to be a martyr for love.

She nurses a bottle of scotch whiskey, waiting on Dr. Gorin’s doormat, looking pathetic and lost. There’s a small mound of flower petals, piling up by her boots.

She waits for a long time, hours until Jillian begins to question if she’d gotten the address wrong. She’s about to stand up, but her legs are wobbling, and her head is ringing and the hallway is spinning out of the control. After one try, she falls flat on her bum.

All of the sudden, Dr. Gorin is standing there, peering over her with an expression that Holtzmann cannot read. For a minute, she can’t speak, all of her breaths trapped inside.

Jillian turns into a child again, too scared to tell her mother she’d blown up the garage. Her mouth feels dry, and she doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or her lack of pluck.

“I’m dying,” Jillian announces in a strangely high-pitched voice. And she seriously considers leaving it there, as if that’s an appropriate way of starting and ending a conversation.

Her mind unwinds, and she can already predict the lengthy lecture she’s due to receive. But instead, a strong pair of hands picks her up from the ground. Dr. Gorin leads her inside.

She doesn’t ask any questions. She doesn’t ask why or who. She doesn’t say anything for that matter.

Jillian falls asleep on the couch. When she wakes up, Dr. Gorin has already prepared breakfast for her. They eat in a soundless hush, and Jillian can’t help but choke up in the middle of biting her burnt toast.

There are a thousand different questions running through her mind. She’s looking for something, an answer perhaps, to tell her if she’s done wrong, if she was right, or if any of her decisions could be validated by cold logic and facts.

But Rebecca Gorin doesn’t give her any of that. She’d always been Jillian’s mentor, but this is something that only Jillian can decide for herself.

Instead, she says the one thing that Jillian Holtzmann needs to hear.

“From you,” Dr. Gorin says, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Without another word, without the slightest change in demeanor, Dr. Gorin gives her a small nod of encouragement.

They finish the rest of their meal in comfortable silence.

* * *

Jillian doesn’t show up to work the next morning. Her coughing had been acting up too frequently. Forget death, not being able to work on her babies without choking on a bunch of colorful leaves -  _that_  was definitely the worst part of this ordeal so far.

For once, she doesn’t feel like doing anything. She can't focus. If there is a ghost to bust, she'd do nothing but get in the way.

She just wants to rest. She wants to stay at home and not  _think_.

It’s a bad idea, she realizes, when after an hour or so, there’s somebody knocking at her door; slamming it more like, close to breaking in. Which happens. Two-point-zero-one seconds after, Jillian’s front door comes crashing down.

“Holtz! Holtz, are you there?” Erin is shouting, long before she enters her bedroom. She looks around in a flurry of panic; her jaws drop open at the sight of Holtzmann, lying comfortably in bed, still in pajamas.

“Oh, thank god,” Erin sighs in utter relief. Then a minute later, she’s gone angry again. “What were you thinking, Holtzmann? You weren’t at the firehouse. You weren’t answering your phone. Patty said you weren’t replying to her text messages since last night. We were worried sick about you! I thought you were-”

Erin stops herself, her face turning an alarming shade of puce. She begins to dry heave, and Jillian jumps up to catch her, rubbing large circles into her back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeats, again and again.

“I thought you were gone,” Erin finally says out loud.

“...Oops?” Jillian tries to lighten the mood, her lips giving away to a familiar weary grin.

They’re holding each other for a while. And Erin sounds like she's close to crying, and it’s getting harder for Jillian to pretend that Erin’s crying for her because she might care for  _her_ , just as much as she cares for Erin.

“Please,” Erin begs of her. “Holtz, please.”

She knows what's being asked. And Jillian never says no, not to Erin. But this is the one rare exception to that rule.

“I can’t,” is all she can say, and for once it’s the truth.

* * *

“I’m not leaving,” Erin declares.

And Jillian tries to act upset, but it’s incredibly hard when Erin’s taking up her space on the couch, a blanket over her lap, a bowl of popcorn in her arms.

“Fine,” she relents and sits down, taking control of the remote. She finds an old re-run of The X-Files playing on one of the channels.

They get through two minutes and thirty-four seconds before Erin breaks.

“So, you’re seriously not going to reconsider, huh?” Her voice is casual as if she could even try and pretend like she doesn’t care about the matter. But Jillian can see her, nervously wringing her fingers as she speaks.

“Nope,” Jillian replies like it’s the easiest decision on the planet. Erin is a little faster to recover this time.

“Can you at least tell me who it is?”

“I told you,” Jillian smirks, “It’s our boy, Kev.”

“Holtzmann,” Erin warns her. “You’re _gay_.”

“I am?” Gasping, she fashions a look of great horror. “Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, forget it,” Erin grumbles, turning her attention back to the television.

They get through five minutes this time before Erin starts it back up again.

“Is it worth it?” Erin keeps a wary eye on her as she asks.

Jillian sighs, her patience running thin. “What do you mean?”

“You’d be leaving everything behind. Abby, and Patty, and Kevin… Dr. Gorin.” Erin bites her lip. “The Ghostbusters, your _family_.”

“And you,” Jillian adds on, out of habit.

“And me.” Erin nods, after a long period of silence. “Please, Holtz.”

Jillian doesn’t know how to proceed. She doesn’t want to waver, but her choice begins to sound more cowardly, more selfish than it ever should be.

But then she thinks about what Erin might do if she _does_ tell her. How Erin might feel if she knew that she’d been the cause of it all. It’s a burden, Holtzmann decides, she doesn’t need to bear.

“I can’t, Erin,” she finally speaks, sounding defeated. “I just can’t.”

She sees Erin, her shoulders sinking, her backing away almost obediently.

“Promise me, okay?” Jillian asks, just as her throat starts to prickle again. “I need you to promise me that you won’t let that happen.”

She coughs before she can hear Erin’s response. She looks down.

Red, Jillian realizes, red rose petals.

She can’t tell if there’s blood on them, but her hand’s starting to feel sticky and wet, and Erin’s starting to hyperventilate, so she supposes that, yes, yes, there is indeed blood on her hands.

Her chest burns like it’s on fire. And she wishes she can stop, but she can’t, and there’s more blood now than there are flower petals. She tastes the tangy iron on her tongue.

Erin is up on her feet. She’s dialing the phone – an ambulance. Holtzmann doesn’t have the heart to tell her not to try.

Her vision converges, into one gigantic blob of darkness. Erin's voice is still ringing in her ear. She worries for how long she can stay listening to it, fearful, until her mind gives in too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU I've always wanted to try and write, and this pairing seemed the most appropriate for me. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Let me know what you think :) Part 2 will be coming soon.


	2. Chapter 2

She remembers Holtzmann, asking her, making her  _promise_  not to let her go through with it. To just let her  _die_ like it’s a choice Erin can make, as if it’s something Erin can live with for the rest of her miserable life.

It turns out, no. Erin isn’t able to. She  _knows_  she won’t be able to. She’s not strong enough.

The ride to the hospital feels excruciatingly long. Once they arrive, the paramedics wheel Holtzmann in. She disappears behind the glass doors of the ER.

The doctor is talking to her, using big fancy words, trying to be all professional and formal, when in the end what she’s saying is that Holtzmann is about to die.

And for a moment, everything feels surreal. And nothing, nothing the doctor is saying registers anymore, because every part of her is swallowed, consumed by the idea that  _Holtzmann_ is about to die. Her friend. Her annoying, insufferable, brilliant, most amazing friend is going to die. And every part of her, every fiber of her being is screaming at her to do something,  _anything_.

Erin makes the call.

She signs some forms. She begs the doctor to do what she must.

And then she’s sitting on a cold hard bench across from the operating room. She’s staring at her hands, at the spots of blood that had dried, and she understands that there’s no turning back now.

She made the right decision. She made the right decision. She repeats that, over and over again, like a mantra. If she tells herself long enough, she prays that it’ll be the truth.

* * *

Erin is in the waiting room.

“Please let her be okay, oh god, please, _please_ let her be okay,” she mutters to herself, ignoring the eyes of people who dare to look upon her.

Abby and Patty are sitting across from her, whispering to themselves. She doesn’t bother trying to hear what they’re saying. She can guess they’re not all that pleasant.

After an hour and fifty-six minutes, Holtzmann is taken out of surgery. One minute of delay and it would have been too late, the doctors inform her. Erin takes a little more pride in her decision. A little less guilt, a little more needless validation.

The hospital provides Holtzmann with her own room. One of the nurses recognize them from TV and brings Holtz a fresh new set of pillows and sheets. The doctor checks her vitals and tells them that she’s open to visitors now.

But Abby and Patty aren’t moving. They’re just staring at Erin, looking deeply conflicted, knowing that Erin saved Holtzmann’s life, by doing the one thing Holtzmann told them not to let her do.

As always, Abby looks like she has something to say; Erin quickly gets up to her feet. She’s not running away, no. She runs towards Holtz. She doesn’t bother to check if the others follow.

Erin walks into the room, letting her eyes rest on her friend, who’s lying motionless in bed, a breathing mask over her mouth, a starch white blanket pulled up to her chest.

Holtzmann stirs. She opens her bleary eyes, looking disoriented and confused. After a deep breath, Erin takes a step forward.

“Hi,” Erin manages to say, and Holtzmann is wrinkling her nose, her brows furrowing. She must be uncomfortable, but she’s breathing just fine. And everything about her tells Erin that she’s okay, things can _finally_ start going back to normal.

“Abby,” Holtzmann croaks. She asks for Patty next, looking past Erin; Erin, who is standing there, with a sudden sinking feeling inside her chest.

She wonders if she’s invisible. She wonders if Holtzmann somehow  _knows_ what she’s done and is unwilling to speak with her; she’s never going to forgive her, Erin fears.

“Holtz,” she strangles out. Her fingers are shaking so violently, Erin has to pull them down to her legs, clutching onto the sides of her pants. She takes another hesitant step, before pausing again.

Holtzmann just stares at her. She stares like she doesn’t comprehend.

And then she says the one thing Erin doesn’t want to hear.

“I’m sorry,” Holtzmann vaguely smiles, “Do I know you?”

The air stills around them.

Erin can’t breathe. She can’t process anything.

She looks around the room, with the single thought that Holtzmann must have lost her goddamn mind. The doctors must have missed something. The operation must have gone horribly wrong.

But then she catches the look on Abby’s face.

And the world spins.

Oh.

_Oh._

* * *

It’s some big cosmic joke.

There’s no other way to describe it. Erin thinks almost a standing ovation is in order. Because there’s nobody else to blame, nobody except for herself.

She was the one who said it shouldn’t matter.

She was the one who told Holtzmann, numerous times, to just cut it out, to deny her last request.

Living. Being  _alive_  is far more important than some stupid, unresolved infatuation, she had argued. Who cares about this person _,_ this  _selfish_ individual who would be foolish enough to reject somebody like Jillian Holtzmann?

Erin thinks about it. She thinks about those exact words, and she doesn’t know how to process the pieces together. She can feel Abby’s eyes on her, unsure of what to do, what to say. Patty’s taken a seat by Holtzmann’s side, looking sullen and afraid.

The truth hits her so hard, it caves in on her. It feels like the earth is shattering beneath her feet and gravity’s just seconds away from pulling her down into the abyss.

Why me? Erin longs to ask. Why would you even consider  _me_? But when she looks to Holtzmann, Holtzmann – the only one who can ever provide her with some answers – Erin sees nothing. Just a blank pair of eyes, dazed and bewildered.

She rushes out of the room, seconds away from collapsing.

It seems like a lifetime before Erin hears something, someone pulling up a chair to sit beside her.

“It’s me,” Erin needs to get it out, “It was me. I- I’m the idiot.”

Abby doesn’t say a word, but Erin can hear her breathing. She notices Abby holding her hand. After a long break of silence, Erin finally lets herself cry, and Abby squeezes her hand even tighter.

She asks if Erin wants a ride home. Patty is more than willing to take care of Holtzmann while they’re gone.

Out of all her hazy thoughts, Erin manages to shake her head. No, Erin tells her, she’d rather take a cab instead. She doesn’t want Abby’s pity; she doesn’t want her undeserved support.

Abby nods, perhaps understanding. She promises to call Erin if anything happens to change. She promises her that it’s going to be okay, even though Erin very clearly knows that it isn’t.

She doesn’t even remember leaving the hospital, but when Erin wakes, she wakes up to what she’s been doing.

To her greatest surprise, she finds herself standing, alone, in Holtz’s empty apartment.

Time has stood still there, just like how they left it.

Erin cleans up the blood. She gathers up the flower petals on the floor and then mops up her own tears. She lies down on the center couch, wrapping herself up with Holtzmann's blanket.

It's quiet. Deathly quiet.

She turns on the television, registering just how scared she was of the silence.

* * *

Erin tries to stay away, but it’s impossible.

She visits the hospital after two days, with a basket of mini-muffins and a get-well card signed in ink. She thinks about buying flowers but she can’t even look at them anymore without having a full-on panic attack.

Holtzmann is much more alert this time around. Her hair’s down and she’s dressed in a clean white hospital gown. She looks so different, Erin wonders how much could have changed in such a short period of time.

But Holtzmann addresses her, almost instantly as she walks in. “Erin,” she says, quite clearly, and Erin nearly dies from a heart attack.

“Yes?” she replies, her voice rising with wishful desire. She sees Holtz, struggling to hold up a book: “Ghosts from Our Past Both Literally & Figuratively: The Study of the Paranormal.” Erin has no idea how it even got there.

“Erin Gilbert, right?” It’s a question, not a statement. “You wrote this with Abby.”

Holtzmann looks weirdly cheery, like she’s solved a problem that’s been bugging her for days. It’s a big ‘Aha! So, that’s where I know you from’ moment for her.

Erin blinks back a few tears, her jaw tightened. “That’s right,” she manages to say because it’s the truth. Half the truth, but the truth all the same.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Holtzmann shakes her hand, “I’ve heard terrible things about you. Terrible,  _terrible_  things.”

Erin isn’t sure if she’s close to crying or laughing. Because this whole conversation seems so familiar to her. It’s like déjà vu. The only things missing are Holtzmann’s blowtorch and the roof of Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science standing over their heads.

“Yes, I know,” Erin attempts to chuckle, “Abby must have told you.”

“Amongst other things,” Holtzmann continues, in an oddly formal tone. “She said you found me passed out on the side of the road. She said you’re the one who called an ambulance.”

Erin doesn’t know what to do. She hadn’t talked things over with Abby yet, but it’s a good story out of many, so decides to play along. “Yeah… I, um, I guess I did.”

“Well… Looks like I owe you my life, Dr. Gilbert.” Holtzmann’s smile begins to widen, and it’s the same smile Erin had seen when they first met. Unusually wide. Intense, to the point of eerie. “Normally, people aren’t so kind to strangers.”

Erin holds back another urge to scream.

“You’re welcome,” she says instead.

There’s a moment of silence, and for the first in a long time, it’s uncomfortable. It’s unbearable. And inside, Erin is begging for Holtzmann to say something, to  _remember_.

But Holtzmann doesn’t. There’s clearly a strain on her usual smile. She’s acting strange,  _beyond_  awkward, like how she normally behaves around people she’s just met.

Holtz can’t keep still. Her fingers begin tapping against the side of her bed. She starts playing with the remote, raising and lowering her bed until Erin manages to crack a smile.

Holtzmann is still so unbelievably  _Holtzmann_ , it scares her. Because despite everything they’ve been through, despite everything else being exactly the same, she’s still watching Erin like it’s all new to her.

Like Erin is indeed just another stranger.

* * *

The hospital releases Holtzmann by the end of the week.

They unanimously agree that Holtzmann should take the next couple of days off from work. None of them like the idea of Holtzmann at her apartment, alone and unsupervised, so it’s decided that Holtz will crash at Abby’s place for the time being. If it were any other situation, Erin would have offered her own place in a heartbeat. For obvious reasons, that was no longer an option.

“The doctor said she’ll make a full recovery,” Abby tells her in private. “They got it all out of her system.”

Erin’s relieved to hear that, undoubtedly.

“Are you doing okay?” Abby carefully asks.

“She doesn’t remember me,” Erin replies back bluntly, her voice coming out bare and hoarse.

“I’m so sorry, Erin.” Abby sounds as equally as devastated. “I really, really am.”

It’s her face that gives something away. It’s a face Abby seldom wears, a penitent expression, almost shameful. It’s how she looks when she’s  _actually_  apologizing.

“You knew.” Erin comes to a very noticeable conclusion. “You  _knew_ , didn’t you?”

The silence in return confirms everything.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she asks, her voice beginning to rise.

“I wanted to,” Abby attempts to explain, “But Holtzmann made me promise I wouldn’t-”

“Oh, so you were just willing to let her  _die?_ ” Erin accuses her sharply. She doesn’t even realize she’s shouting, not until she’s up on her feet, her hands curled into two shaking fists. “For what? Because of some stupid crush she might have had?”

“I didn’t know what to do, okay?” Abby stands too. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re  _sorry_ ,” Erin scoffs. “Yeah, like that fixes everything.”

“Are you seriously blaming this on me?” Abby retorts, looking a little dumbfounded. “What? You think I wanted this to happen? I did everything I could to try and get her to talk. It was Holtzmann’s decision. It was  _her_  choice, not mine.”

“You should’ve told me anyway,” Erin argues stubbornly. “I would have done something.”

Abby stays still, her mouth opening and closing in helpless anger. Erin expects her to do something. She _needs_ Abby to do something because it’s the only thing that’ll keep her from self-destructing.

“Like what, Erin?” Abby asks her instead. “What would you have done?”

It’s an easy question because the answer is obvious. So it doesn’t make sense how Erin's mouth runs dry, suddenly unable to form words.

“If I had told you about this beforehand,” Abby goes on, in the most considerate, tentative voice she’s heard so far, “Would it have made a difference?”

It's almost cruel of her.

Abby must know already, and that must be why she’s asking it. Because she wants Erin to admit that this was tragic but unavoidable. She has a boyfriend. She’s _straight_. She is incapable of loving Holtzmann as more than just a friend.

And yet, there’s a strange glint in Abby's eyes, like she’s hoping Erin would say something different, to have realized something that she hadn’t been conscious of before.

Erin disappoints them both.

“I don’t know,” she admits, keeping her eyes on the ground.

* * *

Everything seems normal.

That’s what makes it so unbelievably difficult.

Because despite all that’s happened, Holtzmann has no idea how much has changed.

They need a good cover story. Something to bury the truth with. A car accident, Abby decides, and the last few days become a part of another gigantic lie.

The fact that Jillian Holtzmann was once in love with Erin Gilbert, the fact that Holtzmann even _knew_ Erin, needs to be hidden. Because if the truth were to be told, it would bring forth a list of unanswerable questions, a potential relapse, and all three of them, including the doctors, agreed that these were risks that didn’t need to be taken.

So they put away their pictures, they took down their videos off the internet, and they tried their best to keep Holtzmann away from the media.

The last part’s easier than Erin expects, mostly because Holtzmann hardly has a social life to begin with. It’s always been just the four of them. The Ghostbusters, and that’s it.

It’s harder explaining why Erin Gilbert is around so often. Because in Holtzmann’s mind, she’s not a proper member of the team. She’s just someone Abby used to know, but isn’t supposed to be friends with anymore, because Erin left her in a cloud of dust.

She doesn’t understand why Abby is letting Erin stick around, why Kevin seems to call her “boss” sometimes, or why Patty acts so familiar with her, as if they’ve known each other for years. Erin is well aware of Holtzmann’s confusion. She overhears her and Abby talking about it late at night.

“I thought you didn’t like her,” Holtzmann brings up, with little to no tact. And it stings Erin, even now, to hear about the past. A part of her always fears that broken relationships are irreparable and that despite her apologies, Abby will never truly trust her again.

“Well, I was mad at her,” Abby replies, “but, no, I don’t think I actually _hated_ her at any point.”

“Oh.” Holtzmann sounds even more confused. “So… She’s staying?”

There’s a long pause in between.

“Is that okay with you?” Abby asks in a hopeful tone, and Erin finds herself pressing against the door, desperate to hear Holtzmann’s next words.

“I guess,” she hums. "I don't mind if you don't mind."

And Erin is accepted, just like that. Because it’s Holtzmann, and she’s sweet.

“Welcome to the team,” Holtz tells her the following morning. She brings Erin a newly designed proton pack and one of Patty’s personalized jumpsuits. “For some reason, we had an extra pair lying around,” Holtzmann muses out loud.

Erin accepts her gifts, the belongings that were already her own to start. She offers a smile that hangs between polite and awkward. Holtzmann does so as well, before she swaggers away, dancing to one of the songs echoing down from her lab.

Kevin frowns, looking very confused from his corner of the room. “Did you quit while I was gone, boss?”

Speechless, Erin ignores him for the rest of the afternoon.

Time continues to pass by in a meaningless blur.

Brian calls her, later that week. He wants to know when she’s available for another date. Erin dawdles her response. She doesn’t have the guts to see him again.

After three more days of avoidance, she eventually breaks up with him over the phone.

* * *

Rebecca Gorin drops by the office one day, completely unannounced.

Erin is shocked to see her, waiting downstairs in silence, like she’s somehow materialized into the room.

“Is Jillian here?” she asks stiffly, and before she or Abby could rightfully assess the situation, Holtzmann crawls down the fire escape.

“Dr. Gorin!” Holtzmann greets her mentor with an innocent smile. And for a moment, Rebecca Gorin looks like she’s at a total loss for words.

She even goes as far as initiating physical contact, holding Holtzmann gently by the arm.

“You look…healthy,” she comments in a slow, carefully neutralized voice.

“Uh, thanks?” Holtzmann’s eyes widen a bit, but she recovers soon enough. “Oh, this is Dr. Erin Gilbert by the way. She also specializes in particle physics."

Holtzmann doesn’t make the same ‘we’re dating’ joke, like before. “Erin, this is my mentor. Dr. Rebecca Gorin.”

Erin keeps her eyes on Dr. Gorin. Dr. Gorin, who obviously already knows who she is, because Holtzmann had introduced them to her  _months_ before.

They shake hands, without any words or questions. After an hour of Holtzmann showing her around the lab, prattling on about her latest inventions, Dr. Gorin announces that she’s seen enough and is ready to leave.

Just when Erin thinks she might be able to get away with things, Dr. Gorin corners her on the ground floor.

“Was it her choice?” she asks. Her voice is as calm as ever, though there’s a layer of anger brewing underneath.

“No,” Erin takes her time to say.

She pauses for a moment longer, expecting Dr. Gorin to follow up with another question, an “Is that so?” or a “Then why did you do it?” or anything that shows she actually cares about what Erin had just shared. Surely, there was something the woman wanted to say.

Nothing.

Dr. Gorin just looks back at Erin, with the same poker face as before. Eventually, she turns away, reaching for the front door.

“I’m happy to see that Jillian is still alive.”

And Erin isn’t sure if this makes her Rebecca Gorin’s favorite person in the whole wide world, or if Holtzmann’s life is the only thing that’s keeping the woman from tearing Erin apart.

* * *

Holtzmann still flirts with her.

It's nothing special. Holtzmann flirts with _all_ women. And Erin just so happens to fit that description.

Patty doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Abby doesn’t like it either, and she warns Erin not to let it get carried away again. But it’s Erin, who worries about it most of all.

She knew how to deal with Holtzmann before – Holtzmann, as a friend, a colleague, and a fellow Ghostbuster. Not the Holtzmann who fell in love with her, who begged Erin not to let her forget, and now doesn't remember.

It makes Erin fear for the present and the future. She feels guilty if she can’t reciprocate, and yet Erin knows that she shouldn’t.

She worries if it’s possible for Holtzmann to fall in love with her again, and that the cycle will just repeat itself. She’s terrified to find out, even more horrified to realize that she might actually be _okay_ with that. Because then, at least then, she might have a chance. She could do it right. She could make amends.

Of course, all her thoughts start to coil, and it makes her wonder if she can ever be good enough for Holtz, who was willing to _die_ for her rather than risk ruining everything for the two.

Regardless, it doesn't matter.

It turns out Erin has nothing to worry about after all.

Because Holtzmann moves on.

She starts heading out to bars again. Something she hadn’t been doing since Erin came into the picture.

She meets other women. Holtz even brings a few along, giving them a free tour around the firehouse, impressing foreign ladies with the fancy new equipment in her lab.

Some of them stay the night, and Erin finds a few of them in the morning, sneaking out, doing the walk of shame as Holtzmann doesn’t even bother to hide her latest conquest. Because it’s painfully obvious that Holtzmann doesn’t care what Erin thinks.

Erin has no right to be upset. It doesn’t even _occur_ to Holtzmann that Erin might be upset. It’s Erin, and Erin is just her friend.

Perfect. It’s so goddamn perfect, she tells herself, to no luck.

“You seem happy.” The words slip out of Erin before she has the chance to filter out all the bitterness and the woe.

And for a second, something shifts and she’s looking at the old Holtzmann, the Holtz who would have understood, who would have noticed the change in Erin’s voice, dropped everything down and asked her what was wrong.

Holtzmann frowns, very briefly, before she remembers to be herself.

“What makes you think I’m not, Dr. Gilbert?” she teases.

* * *

Erin wears the outfit out of spite.

She doesn’t even know why. Abby’s out of town, so she thinks it might be okay to do this without any judgment. She gets it all right, from the plaid suit, the knee length skirt and stiletto heels, down to the same white shirt and its matching bow tie.

Holtzmann is on the second floor, as usual, working. The music’s blaring, and she’s dancing on her toes, circling around a pile of burning metal scraps, a cup of coffee in one hand and a blowtorch in the other.

“Hey,” Erin starts awkwardly, standing a couple of meters away from Holtz’s workbench.

Holtzmann looks up for a moment, a quirky smile on her lips. “Morning, Gilbert,” she greets. “You’re here early.”

“Oh, I just thought I’d get a head start on things,” says Erin, casually. She’s pretending like it doesn’t matter, but she’s watching Holtz through the corner of her eye, patiently anticipating some sort of a sign.

Even so, Holtzmann doesn’t appear to notice. Instead, she sways for a couple minutes more and then decides to belatedly put out the small bonfire she’d created.

“You want some coffee?” Holtzmann offers her. She looks a little worried about Erin, waiting there, wallowing in silence. Erin nods weakly, taking the mug and having a small sip of hot-

She does a bit of a spit take. The coffee scorches down her throat, and Erin’s sure that she’s burnt her tongue, but she can care less about that now.

“Is this- Did you put cinnamon in this?” Erin asks at once.

“Yeah?” Holtzmann looks puzzled by her drastic reaction.

“But… You hate cinnamon,” Erin tries to explain why this is such a big deal, how Holtzmann _never_ liked the taste of cinnamon, but she’d always spice up her own cup of coffee, just to offer it to Erin every morning. How Erin had always noticed, but never gathered enough reason to ask why.

“Right.” Holtzmann frowns as if she’s just remembered this fact about herself. “That’s weird… I don’t know why I did that.”

It's dumb. It's foolish obsessing over something as insignificant as a cup of coffee. And yet her heart soars, and Erin thinks there might be a chance, regardless of how stupid that sounds. It makes her a little bolder. Unnecessarily brave.

“What do you think?” Erin asks, drawing Holtz’s attention to her clothes. “Too sexy for the workplace?”

“You're joking,” Holtzmann laughs, “Gosh, I haven’t seen you wear that since-”

She pauses, looking instantly confused. Erin agonizes over the unfilled blanks. 

“Since what?” she whispers in response.

“I, um, I’m not sure,” Holtzmann hesitates, scratching her head, and for a second, her eyes widen, and it seems like she remembers. Then Erin feels her heart sink, as Holtzmann starts shuffling backward into a chair, a deep frown settling on her face.

“Stop,” she mutters, bringing her hands to her head and slumping forward.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Erin asks hurriedly, running to her side.

“My head hurts,” Holtzmann mumbles, panting heavily as she squeezes her eyes shut.

Her voice drips in pain and exhaustion, and Erin finally comes to her senses. She takes a few steps back, shaking, wondering what on earth she was trying to prove.

Patty walks in on them, of course. She takes one look at Holtzmann and switches straight into caretaker mode. Erin just stands by, helpless and ashamed.

“What happened?” Patty pulls her aside after Holtzmann has calmed down.

“She was… She was starting to remember,” Erin stutters. “She was commenting on my bow tie.”

Patty’s raising her brows, skeptically.

“Come on, girl,” Patty tells her softly. “You know we aren't supposed to mess around with her head like that.”

“I’m not trying to.” Erin tries to justify her actions but fails to put it in words.

She just wants Holtzmann to remember her, their relationship, their history.

She just wants  _Holtz_  back.

* * *

Erin doesn’t return to the firehouse.

She’s sure that Patty would have explained everything to Abby by now, what she had tried to, endangering Holtzmann’s life just to appease her own selfish needs.

She ignores their calls, their texts and voice mail.

Deep inside, she feels that, perhaps, she shouldn’t push them away. Not with her thoughts, too dangerous to be left on their own. But Erin recognizes that she can’t be anywhere else now, acting upon no other desire than the one desire to be alone.

It’s day four of staying at home, of not leaving her apartment.

The silence is interrupted by a heavy knock on her door.

She’s expecting the pizza delivery man because it’s been an hour and the waiting was starting to get ridiculous.

What she doesn’t expect to find is Holtzmann, standing there in her stained overalls and black leather jacket.

“How…?”

“Abby told me where you live,” Holtzmann says shortly and pushes her way inside without another word.

Erin shuts the door behind her, mouth still hung open in disbelief. She doesn’t know what Abby must be thinking. This was clearly going against the rules. This was clearly a bad idea for both of them.

Holtzmann just stands in the middle of her living room. She’s oddly still, her shoulders hunched over in tension, her expression uncannily solemn and grim.

She’s holding something in her hand. A video camera from long ago.

“I found this at my apartment the other day,” she explains. And before Erin can tell her to stop, Holtzmann’s already flipping open the screen. She turns the camera on and presses play.

Erin hears their own voices fill up the room.

_"..."_

_"Come on, cupcake. Give us a smile."_

_Erin groans. "Ugh, no, not this again."_

_"Relax, I'm just documenting."_

_"Documenting what?" Erin huffs. "You're not even doing anything."_

_"Actually, I'm in the middle of posing a very important moral question." Holtzmann's cheery voice says in return. "Tell me, is it ethical to release a ghost into the regional offices of Homeland Security, if it happens to serve a greater purpose in life?"_

_"You- What? Holtzmann, no. No, of course not."_

_"But it would be in the name of science," Holtz argues._

_"Oh, sure." Erin sounds doubtful. "And how will pranking Agent Hawkins and Agent Rorke contribute something to the field of science? Hmm?"_

_"I don't know." Holtzmann snorts. "I was hoping you had an idea. 'Cuz it's kind of too late to turn back now..."_

_Erin gasps. "No, you didn't."_

_"...I did."_

_"NO."_

_"YES."_

_"You're crazy," Erin points out. She's trying to sound annoyed, but she's giggling. She's happy._

_"I know." Holtzmann cackles. "And don't you forget it, Gilbert."_

Click.

The tape ends there, just as Holtzmann snaps the camera shut again. She goes quiet for some time as if counting a pulse. Her face, pale.

“I don’t understand,” she murmurs in a remote tone. “I don’t remember any of this.”

The silence is tortuous. It’s stifling, and Erin remembers she has to lie.

“This isn't- I’m sorry, I can't,” Erin stumbles. “There must be some mistake…”

She’s fighting back the tears and shoving her feelings down. She has to go. To hell with her apartment, Erin knows she has to leave.

As she makes the choice to run, everything slows for the next minute.

“You promised,” Holtzmann whispers to her from behind.

Erin hears the words and stops.

She can't. She’s terrified to find out what it means.

“You promised, Erin,” Holtzmann repeats herself, her voice quavering. She’s standing there, eyes wide and lucid, terrified of the memories that have now finally resurfaced.

She coughs twice into her arm and her eyes begin to water.

“How could you?” Her voice is so quiet and mournful, it surprises Erin enough to turn back around. She’s never heard Holtzmann like this before, tearful and broken, and that thought alone scares her to death.

Holtzmann doesn’t know what to say either. She tears her eyes away, pacing around the apartment, looking anywhere but at Erin.

She starts coughing again, and there’s a petal that falls out into her palm. A small orange blossom. Holtzmann looks down at it and lets out a laugh – a cold, dismal laugh.

Erin stands helplessly, watching Holtzmann crush the tiny flower in her hands.

And that’s all it takes for Holtzmann to snap, to break down completely with an anguished cry.

Holtzmann is horrible at dealing with her real feelings. Erin knows this. She knows this so well.

There are barely any filters. It’s raw. It’s like they’ve turned on a faucet, and the water’s starting to flow, spilling out over the brim.

Erin knows it’s been too long. Erin knows it can’t possibly make up for everything that she’s done, everything that she put Holtzmann through.

Her regrets turn to fear, but her fears turn to courage. She takes Holtz’s face between her hands and holds it tight. She realizes that it's time.

“I love you,” Erin breathes. She stresses every word, in case Holtzmann doesn’t hear, in case Holtzmann is too distraught to understand.

Holtz does hear. Her lips part slightly, and her eyes are wavering, searching Erin’s for the truth. She’s still uncertain. She’s still not sure.

“I love you, Holtz. I do. I really do,” Erin swears, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh my god, I love you so much.”

She expects Holtz to fight her off once she uttered the words. But unexpectedly, Holtzmann melts into her touch, as if she was powerless to it from the start.

Erin leans forward; she wipes away the tears; she takes in the floral taste of Holtz’s lips. Holtzmann pulls her in at once, wrapping around her with careful passion, with patent longing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long,” Erin whimpers, breathless as they entangle. “I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Holtzmann whispers back, “I know.”

A former smile catches up to them both.

“You were worth the wait, Erin Gilbert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm a sucker for happy endings.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please, let me know what you think in the comments below :)


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